


Half Truths

by sepiapages



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst, Angst and Comfort, Gay Panic, Guilt, Hermitcraft - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Spoons, TWOL Spoilers!, entire drawers full of spoons, injuries, winged Grian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiapages/pseuds/sepiapages
Summary: Grian falls and so does his glamour. Mumbo sees his true form... but for some reason, he doesn't seem surprised.TWOL SPOILERS!Takes place after the conclusion of Chapter 31 and splitting from BB’s canon before the events of Chapter 32.Or: Mumbo and others kinda figured Grian was NOT, in fact, an angel this whole time and just didn't wanna say anything because he seemed so stressed...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Weight of Lies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027974) by [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin). 



> HELLO! it is I! I have returned after almost a year! again... I keep doing that. Anyway go read TWOL it's so fckcnnngg good. Here's my fanfiction of a fanfiction because I love it ;~;

Everything is pain. Every nerve in his head and in his fingers and arms and shoulders is on fire. His hip feels like the bones have been grated with sandpaper. Yet there’s simultaneously a warm relief floating just above the surface. As parts of him scream in agony, other parts sleep happily, buzzing quietly, and some inner core of his head floats numbly beneath the flames. 

Slowly, the numbness and the warmth seep away. It gives way to a new buzz, a deep ache and more pain like sparks of fire jumping through his veins. The world dips and sways heavily as his eyes start to fight to open. His head is pulled hard and fast through thick waters and then he’s blinking in harsh white light.

“Grian?”

Someone is sitting near him. Whispering his name. He blinks hard and tries to force his eyes to focus. 

For some reason, he’s surprised to feel a soft cushion below him and to see a bright room. (What was he expecting?  _ Cold hard stone.  _ His heart skips a beat.) 

“Oh, thank goodness. You’re awake. You’re okay. Are you okay? I guess that’s relative…” 

Grian squeezes his eyes shut against the light and the noise. He can’t think. He can’t process any of these words. But his name… and the voice is familiar…

“Hey, here. Drink this.” 

Something is placed in his hand. Grian squints with one eye and sees a bottle of shiny pink liquid. His stomach lurches at the thought of consuming anything, but at the same time it growls and pulls hungrily at him. 

“Wha…?” he rasps. His throat hurts. (Everything hurts.)  _ What’s going on? Where am I? _

“Shh… don’t worry. It’s okay. Drink this - it’ll help you feel better.” 

Too tired to think much longer, Grian obediently tips the bottle back and swallows. It tastes overly sweet and it goes down warm and fizzy. He can almost feel the liquid pop and sizzle in his empty stomach. 

Almost instantly, a warm hum fills his insides and slowly overtakes the aching buzz. His head begins to clear and he looks more carefully at his guest.

Dark hair. Pale skin. Dark suit. Dark eyes. Worried eyes.

Recognition clicks into place.  _ Oh god! Mumbo! _

And again. 

_ My glamour! _

The air is sucked out of his lungs. The bottle falls from his hand, landing safely on the blankets around him, and Grian looks, horrified, at his hands and wings. Light gray sooty patches dot around his hands, a mark of a demon, and his wings are blacker than any coal could have made them. 

His glamour is gone. He’s exposed. If he had a mirror, horns would be curling from his head and he would see the utter devastation on his own face.

He can’t bring himself to pull the glamour around himself again. It’s over. It’s out. It would just be treating Mumbo like a fool if he were to try to cover it up now.

“Hey! Woah! You’re okay!” Mumbo suddenly says, seeing the horror drain all color from his friend. He leans forward and places a hand on Grian’s arm. It’s warm. “You’re okay. Breathe. You’re just in the base - Team G’s base. You’re safe. Breathe.” 

Grian’s eyes snap to Mumbo’s. He feels tears start to swell. “How…?” he rasps.  _ How are you okay with this? With  _ me?  _ How is this happening? How am I still here, not floating cold and dead in the void? Or a walking dead man in front of the Archangels? How? How? _

“I found you in a ravine,” Mumbo simply replies. “You must have fallen. You hit your head pretty hard, and, well, considering how little you’ve slept and all the glamour you were holding, I’m not surprised you’ve been out for this long. But that potion should have helped. How are you feeling?”

Grian’s mouth is dry and he just opens and closes it uselessly, in awe at this insanity.  _ I should be dead. I should be dead. I’m going to die.  _

“Grian…?” Mumbo asks, eyebrows knit deeper in concern. 

Is this Grian’s punishment? Is this the universe’s way of getting even with him for the crimes he’s committed? Making him betray such lovely people, make his lies painfully obvious but keep them silent so Grian himself must tell them what he’s done. So that it lies on Grian to be honest and break their hearts. So that he sits in agony with his secrets, agony of his own making, until _he_ chooses to shatter the illusion and open the wounds. He got himself into this mess, he caused the pain of the secrecy, and he will have caused the pain of the truth and broken trust.

He wants to cry and wail that it’s not fair, but he knows that’s not true. 

“Grian, buddy, please. What do you need?”

Mumbo is holding Grian by both arms and looking more worried than ever. If that was possible. 

“I don’t… I’m…” Grian struggles to come up with words. He just doesn’t know what to say. What  _ can  _ he say? 

“Here,” Mumbo says, turning and grabbing a piece of bread. “Eat something.” 

The demon numbly takes the bread without a word and takes a tiny bite, chewing slowly. 

Mumbo starts to ramble again. “Oh, I got you some new clothes. You can change into them when you’re ready. Your clothes are kind of a mess, but I obviously… well, I-” Mumbo blows out a puff of air, his face turning red. “I wasn’t gonna… Anyway,” he continues hurriedly, “yeah, I, uh, tried to clean your wings, but I guess they stained really easily…” 

Grian chokes on the piece of bread, the crumbs sticking to his throat as he gasps. He coughs and Mumbo panickedly gets him a glass of water. 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! For startling you. And your wings. Ah, goodness… Sorry!” Mumbo stumbles through apologies. Grian’s heart squeezes and he can’t bring himself to look at the angel. 

_ He knows… he must know. The horns, for goodness’ sake! Oh Mumbo… I’m so sorry…  _

When he’s finally done coughing, the two sit in silence for a moment before Mumbo starts talking again. He clears his throat and says, “Ah. Uh, yeah. I’m really sorry about that. About your wings. I didn’t realize that would happen… I’ve never seen anyone try to color their wings like that, and, well… maybe there’s a reason!” He laughs, but it’s strained. “I’m… really sorry,” he says more quietly. “Maybe Xisuma can fix it? Or maybe False will know more about it? I don’t know… I’m sorry…” 

When he continues to apologize, something in Grian breaks. He bursts into tears and covers his face with his hands. 

He can’t take it. It’s too much. He’s so  _ stupid, oh my god! Mumbo. Mumbo. You horrible, wonderful idiot. I’m so sorry.  _

Mumbo gets even more flustered and frets over Grian, pulling him closer and telling him to cry it out, repeating apologies and promises to fix it, and Grian’s chest just  _ burns  _ with the weight of it all. 

“Oh, don’t worry. Please. It’s gonna be okay. We can get this fixed, we can…” Mumbo is saying.

And the truth tumbles from Grian’s lips with a momentum he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. 

“Mumbo, no! No, no, no, no, no… I’m not… I’m  _ not!  _ Mumbo,  _ I’m not!”  _

Or… half the truth, at least.

Mumbo blinks, confused, but he stops apologizing. “You’re not what? Grian? What’s wrong? Let’s go get help-” He starts to get up but Grian grabs his arm.

“They’re not white!” Grian cries.

“I…” Mumbo just stares, his forehead creasing further. He settles back down. “I know they’re not… I’m sorry, I-”

“NO! I’m-” Grian cries again. His throat catches. He can’t scream this. He can’t let the others hear him. They can’t know. Not yet. So he says it quietly. “Mumbo, I’m sorry. They’re… they’re black because…” He shudders, tenses, then lets it go. “I’m not an angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two coming soon........................... hopefully
> 
> also my headcanon is that demons have gray patchy splotches coloring their hands. not like dark black dramatic gloves, just like. imagine you took a round sponge and dipped it in ash and then patted it around on someone's hands and wrists a little bit. tadaa! subtle. but cool.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grian finds out what Mumbo thinks he is.
> 
> CW: a brief mention of suicidal idealization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!!! I actually finished part two in the same night. And there's actually gonna be a part three oops. I've got some talkin' for Xisuma to do.

Mumbo still looks confused, but now he looks more embarrassed than panicked. He opens his mouth and closes it, words failing him.

Grian knows the feeling. His heart hammers in his chest - his ribs actually ache like they’re about to be broken with the force. He buries his face in his hands again and feels heat rise in his face while the rest of his body goes numb. How could he do this? He had to. It had to happen. It was already out anyway. But did he have to say it now? To Mumbo? He can’t look. He can’t bear to see a heartbroken and betrayed look on Mumbo’s face. 

“I-” he murmurs. His throat squeezes. He shakes with a restrained sob. This is it. This is where it ends. Where Mumbo finally sees him for what he is - sees the pain _Grian_ inflicted on him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” At least he can apologize. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Mumbo makes a noise, but it’s not one Grian was expecting. It’s a quiet, breathy giggle. A nervous laugh. (People have paradoxical reactions, right? People laugh when they’re startled and in pain… _right?)_

“Grian…” he says. He clears his throat. “Grian. It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

The demon can’t stop himself from peeking. He drops one hand lower and prepares to see a hysterical and horrified, even an angry Mumbo, but he doesn’t. Mumbo is smiling sadly at him with a hand gently extended. He blinks slowly. 

“Hey. It’s okay.” 

Grian can’t understand it. Then his heart twists in pain again as he remembers - _Right. This is my punishment. It’s so obvious but somehow I’m_ still _lying to them until I admit it all._ And he starts crying again. Tears fall unfettered down his face and hit the blankets with a sad, muffled plop. 

“I’m sorry,” Grian repeats. This is all he can do. This is the last good thing he can do. He’s going to apologize until he’s shoved out the portal and into the void, and he’s going to die with an apology on his lips. They don’t have to accept it. But it’s good. It’s a good thing. It’s the last good thing he can do. 

_“Grian,”_ Mumbo pleads, prompting the demon to look back up at him with bleary eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for! Please, drink some water and we’ll go talk to Xisuma. Whatever you need, I’m sure he can do it.” 

Grian just shakes his head, slowly at first then getting faster. “No,” he mumbles, “no, no, no…” He sobs, “Mumbo! No! I’m not an angel!” The words burn his tongue but he ignores it.

Again, Mumbo just smiles sadly at him. “I… well, that’s okay.” Grian is pretty sure his breathing stops. “I, uh… I kinda figured that, actually. So… it’s no big deal.” Grian is actually not breathing. “Come on, let’s go talk to Xis-” Mumbo begins to pull Grian by the arm, but the demon pulls back. 

He stares, incredulous. His heart is so loud in his ears, his lungs burn… He can’t have heard that correctly. He _can’t._ Mumbo should be yelling at him to get out, calling him a thief and a liar, hurt that he’s deceived them all when they’ve been so generous to him. 

But all the angel is doing is standing up and looking sadder and more worried _for_ Grian and Grian can only shake his head. _How? How?_

“How?” The word slips out. 

Mumbo turns redder and shrugs. “Just a guess, really. I… well, it’s kind of obvious, you know… if you know what to look for. And I…” He coughs. Grian’s whole body buzzes. “I mean, the way you’ve acted about them - your wings - I mean, the things you didn’t know… it was kind of obvious you didn’t grow up with other angels.” 

A ringing starts piercing through the fog of Grian’s brain and his stomach lurches. He can’t feel his hands. He can’t feel his face. This can’t be happening. _What is happening?_ What _is_ happening?

Mumbo reaches out again and rests a hand half-closed on Grian’s wrist, trying to comfort him. “But you were clearly so sensitive about it that I didn’t want to bring it up! It’s like I said before… you don’t have to bring your past here. The hermits don’t care.” Mumbo gingerly sits down beside him and puts his other hand around Grian’s opposite shoulder. It’s warm - too warm. Grian is burning up. “We just care about who you are with us. _This_ is who you are. This is who you are to us. It’s okay.” 

Grian feels like his head is going to fall off his shoulders. His body is buzzing and on fire. This… this is almost worse. Worse than rejection. 

_Why?_

What is happening? The words are just noise floating around and smashing into his head. It hurts. His head hums and squeezes and Grian presses his hands into his temples and feels hot tears slide down his face again.

Warm hands hold him tighter. He wants to lean in. He wants it all to stop.

 _He knows I’m not an angel. He_ knew _I’m not an angel. He figured it out. Figured what out? What does he think I did?_

_Who else knows?_

Grian manages to pull his head back up but he stares at the floor. He swallows hard. “Wh…” he starts, phlegm stopping the sound. He swallows again and asks, “Who… else…?” 

“Oh, not everyone,” Mumbo reassures him. “I’m not sure _exactly,_ but uh… Xisuma for sure. Doc knows.” - Grian’s vision blacks out for a moment and his chest seizes - “Iskall knows. And probably Joe. Because he’s Joe. And he always knows more than he reasonably should. Which also means Cleo probably knows.” 

Mumbo seems to notice the demon isn’t breathing right and hastily finishes. “But don’t worry! We don’t go around sharing personal stuff like that! Especially because we can all tell it’s, well… a very sensitive topic for you,” he says with a nervous puff of laughter. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand removed from Grian’s far shoulder. “We care about you. Like I said, your past is your past. We’re all family here. Here and now. In the present. _Today_ is what matters. Okay?” 

Grian can feel his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, thick and dry and stuck to the back of his throat. His heart pounds, pulsing in his neck and chest. He’s choking. He’s not sure he’s breathing. The world spins around him, dipping and swaying and churning like a Nether portal. He’s going to pass out at this rate. It doesn’t help that his head is still probably trying to recover from the fall and the thousand other terrible conditions he put himself through. He might even die from this. A voice inside seems to say he wouldn’t really mind. 

Mumbo grabs another glass of water and Grian takes it on autopilot. He just holds it and stares. Mumbo fidgets and paces and stares worriedly at his friend. He doesn’t know what to do. Grian doesn’t know what end is up. After a bit more encouragement, he drinks from the glass and the world spins less violently.

There are so many questions burning away in his mind but he can only bring himself to shake his head and mutter his half truth again. “I’m not… I’m not an angel.” 

A sigh of frustration makes Grian wince. Mumbo sits down on the floor in front of him, reaches out and takes the glass to set it on the ground, and holds Grian’s hands in his own. He looks into Grian’s eyes and the demon wants to cry again.

“Look, Grian. You’re… you’re not doing well. You really need to get some sleep, and stop using magic, and eat, and… and be _kind_ to yourself,” Mumbo says, ending in a desperate plea. “I don’t know what happened to make the world such a scary place for you, and we don’t have to talk about it, now or ever if you don’t want to, but… Grian, we care about you. All of us. This is a safe place. You’re _safe_ here. With us. With… me.” Mumbo’s voice gets quieter and the last word is barely a whisper, too sweet to bear. 

A few tears escape but Grian doesn’t move. 

“Grian…” Mumbo breathes. “Grian, _please,”_ he whines, making Grian’s heart twist. “Talk to me. Or I’m just going to go get Xisuma right now.” 

Grian squeezes his eyes shut. So quietly, he lets out the words, “You know. What I am. And you’re… not… mad?”

Mumbo nods at first, then he pauses. “I… Grian- _Mad?”_ He sits back on his heels, confusion pinching his face again. He chuckles a bit. “Grian, no. I’m not mad. The only ones who care about - about _purity_ and _rules_ and… and all that garbage are the Archangels. And they’re not here. It’s just us, okay? It doesn’t matter who your parents were. Hermitcraft is a safe place for you. I _promise._ I… I hope someday you can believe me.” Mumbo looks down sadly. 

Grian tries his hardest to absorb the words Mumbo is saying. It’s so hard. But he latches onto one piece and asks, “I… Parents?” 

“Yeah. Demon, angel, hybrid, whatever. It’s okay. I’ve met a hybrid before. Most of us probably have. You’re just… _people,_ Grian.” Mumbo begins to sound exasperated and Grian can’t blame him. And yet… he’s still so confused.

“Hybrid? I…” Grian thinks and thinks and… _Oh!_ “You… you think I’m a hybrid?” 

Mumbo’s brighter laugh startles him. “Uh, yeah! I told you. It’s kind of obvious if you know what to look for.” Then he looks sheepish. “I’m… sorry. I wish I didn’t, like, invade your personal privacy but I… I don’t…? I mean, I didn’t _tell_ anyone-” He hesitates and purses his lips. “Okay, well, I didn’t _tell_ anyone but I… I guess I did talk _about_ it… with… Xisuma. I’m sorry!” Mumbo pulls his hands back and clenches his fists. (Grian immediately misses them.) “It was only after X had already brought up hybrids and we kinda… hinted at our guesses about you without really… _saying_ it? And then we understood what we were… not saying… and then we just… knew… Agh, I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense.” 

Grian can’t help the small laugh that escapes him at Mumbo’s floundering. And Mumbo smiles - a genuine one with only a little worry in it this time.

“I… It’s okay,” Grian says. “I… I like Xisuma.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but at least he can breathe. Even if this is all still insane. 

Finally, Mumbo grins. A big, beautiful beaming grin that makes Grian’s heart squeeze in a much better way than it has in a long time. “Oh good! Right, uh… I think we should get you some real food, yeah?” He offers his hand to help Grian stand up.

Despite the new relief, a cold wave of dread rushes over Grian once again at the thought of sitting in the public kitchen and having everyone see his unglamoured self. Not everyone is going to think he’s a hybrid. Doc probably… 

_Doc… Mumbo said Doc knew. Does Doc think I’m a hybrid? Does Mumbo think Doc thinks I’m a hybrid? Or does Doc know I’m…?_ His head really hurts too much to figure this out right now. 

He swallows, his mouth dry, and looks back up at Mumbo. “I’m, uh… I don’t really…” 

Mumbo jumps. “Oh! Of course. You can stay resting. That’s absolutely fine. I’ll… Well, I can go make you some food if you’d like. Bring you a snack. And I’ll get Xisuma to come check you out and make sure everything’s okay. Okay?”

Grian blinks and reaches back to pull the blankets tight around himself. “I… Yeah. Okay. Thank you…”

Mumbo smiles softly. “Of course. And I’ll make sure no one disturbs you. Get some rest. I’ll be back.” 

And with that, Mumbo leaves the room, shutting off the lights as he closes the door. It’s still awfully bright with the white walls and white sheets, but Grian is so tired he could sleep on a rock. He turns over into the bed and wraps the blankets around himself. A few loose black feathers flutter down and he frowns, guilt still clawing at his stomach. He can’t tell if it’s worse or better than before. 

Is being visually honest but still lying about who… _what_ he is better than lying about _everything?_ He doesn’t know.

For now, he will rest. Sleep still isn’t on the table - not when he’s at risk of any other hermit walking in on him while his glamour is still exhausted. But rest… rest is good.


	3. Chapter 3

Xisuma is sitting in a chair next to the bed. Grian awkwardly chews the food Mumbo made for him - mushroom soup, a familiar taste - and looks around the room. 

The leader is patient. He doesn’t pry, but he’s certainly keeping an eye on the demon. It makes his skin crawl - makes his stolen wings shiver. And he feels guilty for even feeling this way. Xisuma has been nothing but kind to him, and Mumbo said he believes Grian is a hybrid, which means he doesn’t have any suspicions that he stole Mumbo’s wings, so there should be no reason for Grian to be worried.

But he always finds a reason.

Right now it’s because Xisuma’s expression is obscured under his helmet and his body language is too formal to show any good indication of real feeling. And it’s because he hasn’t said much at all since joining the demon besides a greeting and a few questions about his health. 

So Grian fidgets and eats slower than any normal person should and feels the guilt boiling away inside him. 

When Xisuma finally shifts positions, Grian flinches. Then he winces internally at the display of weakness - and of distrust. 

Of course the charismatic leader picks up on it. He tilts his head and sits forward. “Grian? You okay?”

Grian swallows and blinks rapidly before answering. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Just a little… uh… I don’t know,” he struggles. What can he say? He doesn’t know where to look, especially with Xisuma’s eyes hidden. 

Xisuma hums. “I can imagine you’re still a bit shaken up from your fall.” He hesitates. “And the drain on your magic, from what Mumbo told me.” 

There it is. The first breach of the topic. The first chance for Grian to screw it all up. To throw away his chance at a second beginning of being at least somewhat honest.

“Yeah… I’m… I’m sorry. I’m not… good at it,” he replies, laughing a little. 

Xisuma’s posture relaxes more, which in turn relaxes Grian. “I can understand. Magic is a very tricky thing anyway, and even many End-born angels who are taught from a young age struggle to master it.” 

_ Okay. This is fine. It’s just banter. _ He can do this.

“Wow,” Grian says. It falls flat. He wants to kick himself. He clears his throat and tries again. “Wow, that’s… Yeah, it’s really weird. I’ve never been taught, so…”

Xisuma nods. “And of course angels from the main world often struggle with magic inherently. And so do hybrid angels.”

Grian almost chokes on his soup despite expecting this.  _ Okay. Okay. Here we go. _

“Ah, hah! Yeah. Not born with the right stuff, I guess,” he says, forcing some more laughter.  _ God this is terrible.  _

Xisuma doesn’t respond right away. He hums again and sits back in his chair. It doesn’t look very comfortable. This whole interaction isn’t very comfortable.  _ Xisuma doesn’t deserve this,  _ Grian thinks. So he takes a deep breath and continues the conversation.

“I’m… sorry.” Apologies. The one good thing. “I’m sorry I hid myself from you. I shouldn’t have.” Grian’s chest tightens and he looks down. Somehow, he can feel the leader’s eyes staring into him. He almost fears they can see through the second layer of lies. “I understand if you… if I have to make up for it. Or if you would like me to leave.” He lets out his breath slowly and shakily. There. He’s doing the best he can.

For the second (third?) time today, Grian is startled by an overly positive reaction. Xisuma laughs brightly. “Oh, no! No, Grian, you don’t have to worry about that. You haven’t done any harm.” He leans forward again and drapes a hand over his knee, relaxing. “I told you before: plenty of us hermits have pasts we’d like to leave behind. You’re absolutely allowed to move forward in whatever way you feel suits you best.” 

Grian takes a few deep breaths and looks up, blinking a few times. He tries to let the words sink in - maybe they can reach his heart and he will be able to let go of this weight. Maybe. 

“I…”  _ Let go.  _ He collapses. “Thank you,” he wheezes, nearly melting. The soup long forgotten, he sets it to the side and just focuses on breathing and supporting his heavy head. 

“Of course, Grian,” Xisuma says kindly. He removes his helmet and sets it on the ground. Grian can see a deep concern in his eyes, and a relief. Relief for Grian? “I never wanted you to feel afraid for who you are - and who you choose to be with us. I’m sorry I let that environment happen. I suppose we were trying so hard to give you space that we alienated you. I’m very sorry.” 

Now Grian is really blinking. This is all wrong.  _ He’s  _ the one who’s supposed to be apologizing.  _ He’s  _ the one who lied and deceived everyone for weeks. Who stole Mumbo’s  _ wings.  _ And lied to his face, taunting him with them every day. 

Xisuma can see the stress seeping back into Grian’s form. He reaches out and squeezes the demon’s knee reassuringly. “It’s okay, Grian. No matter what. I promise, it’s okay.” 

Grian really, really hopes it is. 

For now, he has to keep moving forward. Get the conversation off his guilt at least. 

“I don’t… I’ve never met a hybrid,” he begins. “Another hybrid,” he corrects himself. “What… are they like?” He winces at the strange question but doesn’t add more.

Xisuma smiles. “Well, demon and angel relationships, and by extension hybrids of the two are disapproved of by the Archangels. So typically hybrids with visible signs, like yourself,” he nods to the black wings folded up behind Grian and the curled horns adorning his head, “will hide themselves with magic.”

So that’s why it wasn’t so strange after all.

Grian can’t help himself. “Why… Are all hybrid wings… black?” He swallows. His stomach tightens. 

“Oh, no, not always,” Xisuma answers coolly. “Hybrids can be between angels and demons, between angels and humans, humans and demons, and between hybrids. The traits get all mixed up and passed around and display differently every time. Some hybrids have white wings, if they have particularly strong angel genes, some have fully black wings, and some even have mixed colors. Spots, stripes, half-and-half - you name it!” Xisuma explains with a grin. 

He’s fascinated by it. The idea of an angel and a demon having a child together is  _ interesting  _ to this man, not horrifying or disgusting. Grian can feel curiosity and warmth start to swell. 

“Wow…” he breathes, genuine. “That’s… really cool.” Then, before he can stop himself, “Are there… any other reasons wings can be black?” 

_ Great.  _ He’s pushing his luck at this point. He’s sure to be found out now that he’s brought up this possibility. He should’ve left it alone. They’d all thought only about hybrids - why would they accuse someone of  _ stealing wings?  _ It’s horrible! Grian squirms and looks away again. 

But Xisuma doesn’t seem bothered. “Well, that’s the only way for someone to be born with black wings. But there is a myth… a legend that someone without could get wings of their own,” he says with awe in his voice. “They say somewhere in the deep void of the End dimension there are wings you can take for yourself. And it seems plausible that, since the person obviously wouldn’t be a full angel, the wings would be black from the lack of angel genes. But genetics are about predetermined traits, not so much magical affixes later in life. But then again, magic reacts differently to everyone, so perhaps genetics influence that!” Xisuma blinks and looks back at Grian. “Apologies, I’m rambling. It’s quite a fascinating topic, though, isn’t it? It was always said to be a myth, but there seems to be growing evidence it could be true, like Mumbo’s wings vanishing. Pretty wild, huh?”

It hurts. Grian can only nod quietly.  _ I did that. I’m impure. I ruined them. I did what no one was supposed to. I stole what wasn’t mine. _

“Grian?” Xisuma speaks softly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We don’t care about purity nonsense here. We care about you for who you are. For  _ Grian,  _ not ‘Grian the Hybrid.’ You know?” Grian can’t look at him. Xisuma sighs. “It’s okay, Grian. You’re okay. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His heart sinks and pulls his entire gut with it. He feels like he’s going to be sick but there’s nothing but sour air inside. Should he beg for forgiveness? Or just accept his fate? Would it be better to go out with dignity, not denying it all? He’d rather be thrown out silently than to see the further disappointment in their eyes for his fighting the truth. After all, bad deeds are bad, but lying about it is worse.

But Mumbo and Xisuma… they’ve always said their past doesn’t matter. That they care about demons. That they’ve forgiven demon  _ hunters.  _ Cruel and horrible demon hunters. He can’t leave without at least knowing what they really think about him. Can’t he just… ask? Can he ask to stay? He doesn’t expect it to work. He’s already expecting to be thrown out like garbage - the deceitful leech he is. No matter what he does, he’s going to be tossed out.

Or… or… it’s possible… It’s just slightly possible they could let him stay. They could forgive him like Iskall. He’s got nothing to lose, right? Could it really hurt any worse to be denied if he’s already expecting it? Wouldn’t it feel better to know he at least tried? Wouldn’t the question of “what if?” be worse? 

It doesn’t seem to matter the reason, though, because Grian is frozen. His body is made of lead, his eyes unfocused and glassy, his head in the clouds. He can’t hear anything, if Xisuma is still talking. It’s muffled and there’s cotton surrounding his head, suffocating him slowly. He’s going to die like this, caught in the blinding headlights of his mistakes finally catching up to him.

Xisuma seems to give up on the catatonic demon. Grian barely registers as the leader picks up his helmet and starts to walk out. 

He shudders and closes his eyes and whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

Xisuma stops in the doorway. He says something. Grian can’t understand it. He can’t hear anything with the cotton filling his head and the sound of his own heartbeat pounding through every cell in his body. 

It seems a half truth is worse than a whole lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.... honestly didn't know how exactly to end this but this seems okay. I hope you enjoyed! I feel like I wanna write one where Grian is actually a hybrid but IDK. Either way <3 <3 I love this fic and i love u. happy holidays and happy new year. stay safe.


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